Wardrobe Malfunction
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: This isn't the way Gokudera would have chosen to do it, and it's all Yamamoto's fault. Gokudera and Yamamoto and Vongola hijinks.


**Title:** Wardrobe Malfunction**  
Characters:** Gokudera/Yamamoto**  
Summary:** This isn't the way Gokudera would have chosen to do it, and it's all Yamamoto's fault.**  
Notes:** For Cliché Bingo, prompt: "Habits and routines." General audiences: fluff and humor and teasing Gokudera until he swears a lot. 848 words.

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**Wardrobe Malfunction**

This was not how Hayato had imagined coming out of his particular closet.

To be strictly honest, he hadn't actually planned on coming out at all, ever, because for fuck's sake, whose business was it besides his and whatever partner he might take to bed, anyway? That's right, it was no one's business at all, and anyone who thought otherwise could piss right on off.

But if he _had_ made up his mind to proclaim publicly, to any and all interested parties, that he, Gokudera Hayato, the Tenth's right hand and the best goddamn Storm Guardian in the history of the world _ever_, happened to prefer cock, he would have chosen a hell of a better way of doing it than this. It would have been fucking dignified, for one thing, and it would have been low-key, discreet, a matter of putting the right word in the right ear at the opportune moment, and that would have been that.

And it wouldn't have been the goddamn baseball idiot's fault.

Wait, scratch that. It probably would have been, somehow or another. Because Yamamoto was an idiot like that, and had a real way of getting Hayato to do the damned stupidest things sometimes.

But if it'd been Hayato's decision, it wouldn't have ended up like this. Definitely.

"So? How come you're wearing Yamamoto's shirt?" Lambo stared up at him, with all the diabolical innocence an eight-year-old with a lethally overdeveloped sense of curiosity could apparently muster. "I thought that only girls shared clothes."

Stupid fucking Yamamoto and his habit of leaving his clothes draped all over Hayato's room so that they got mixed in with Hayato's own clothes. Stupid fucking baseball idiot who hadn't _warned him_ before they'd rushed out the door for a last-minute meeting.

Stupid fucking "YAMAMOTO 80" that was blaring across Hayato's chest, in unmistakably bright-as-fuck colors.

"Um," Hayato said, while the Tenth continued to do his level best to look anywhere but at them, and Hibari just looked bored. Yamamoto continued to rest his head against the table, shoulders shaking silently.

Useless bastard.

"Oh, please do tell us," Mukuro purred, which was just fucking uncanny whenever it came out in Chrome's soft soprano like that. "I'm dying to hear."

"Um," Hayato said again, casting about desperately for some kind of explanation that would let him survive this with some shred of dignity still intact.

"It's because Gokudera is out of clean laundry," Yamamoto said, finally, still muffled against the table. Hayato decided that perhaps he wasn't going to permanently ban Yamamoto from his bed forever-and-ever-amen after all. "So I let him borrow one of my shirts until he has a chance to get that taken care of."

"Oh," Lambo said, and that seemed to be good enough for him. He went back to swinging his feet over the edge of the chair, anyway, and didn't ask any more awkward questions.

Hayato breathed easier for a moment, thinking that maybe the crisis was going to pass by without any lasting harm.

Then Ryouhei came rushing in, out of breath, even later than he and Yamamoto had been, though probably for much less pleasant reasons, trailing apologies with him. "Sorry I'm late, I--" He stopped short and stared at Hayato. "Why are you wearing Yamamoto's shirt?"

"It's his laundry day!" Lambo volunteered, cheerful, which Hayato hoped was going to be enough to let the subject drop.

Ryouhei was, regrettably, smarter than the average eight-year-old.

"Laundry day?" he repeated, brow wrinkling. "Oh. I thought maybe it was because the two of you were fu--"

"Now that we're all here, why don't we get started?" the Tenth said, quickly, still tinged pink all the way down to his collar.

"Wonderful idea, Tenth," Hayato said, quickly, and they settled down to business.

Not that he thought that would be the end of it, given that Chrome was still wearing an evil little smile and now Lambo looked like he was trying to figure out what Ryouhei had been about to say. At least the Tenth looked like he was too embarrassed to ask any questions, and Hibari could be relied on not to give a damn what the rest of them got up to as long as he could rely on getting a good fight every once in a while.

And then Hibari looked across the table at Yamamoto, eyes gone sharp and intent. "So _that's_ why your edge was dull the other day," he said, sudden and unexpected, cutting off what the Tenth had been saying about the Barassi. As the table went silent, Hibari leveled a blistering glare at Hayato. "Cause that again and I'll bite you to death."

Everyone was silent for a moment, as Hayato felt his face catch fire, and then Lambo said, voice piercing, "What does that have to do with Gokudera's laundry?"

Hayato gave in and knocked his forehead against the table, since it was closer than the wall, and just prayed he'd have the time to banish Yamamoto to the metaphorical couch (on general principles) before he died of embarrassment.

**- end -**

Comments, as always, are welcome!


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